We Are These Crying Souls
by tormented-ivy
Summary: Story is about three friends and their ablilty to cheat the game. I adapted the game and a few other things. Short story R


Hannah Chan

By Hannah Chan

I arose from my slumber and once again I found myself in that classroom. How many times have I dreamt of the past, in that place and time? How many people have I killed to get out of here? The life I thought I knew ended in that place. My classmates and I were taken to an island, which we thought was for a simple school trip. What we did their however was nothing like the school trip we thought. We were made to kill each other and one by one murder our fellow friends, the ones that we memories with and even the ones we called our loved ones.

Our plight had no ethical reason; we were made to fight for enjoyment of the wealthy. They filmed each of our movements and took pleasure from it, seeing my classmates and I slowly succumb to their inhuman intent. You might ask if I had participated in that heinous scheme. If I told you that I had, would you call me a killer? I had no choice not to, if I did not then I too would have been killed. My head would have been blown to pieces with the tiny but lethal shell that was attached to my neck with a brace. My blood would have flowed out from my neck and maybe my last thoughts would have been, 'why must I die for them'. We found out that each of us was sold for money and riches for that game. Our parents lured by greed each in turn traded our future for death.

Now I am back in this hell, this place that so many futures were tarnished by their demise. It pains me to be back here for I have so many unwanted memories here. We were a class that only existed for orphans and for unwanted children who were hated by our parents. I guess that was the reason why he chose us to fight. No one would miss us but each other, and if there was only one of the thirty who was alive then no one would argue they did anything wrong.

I couldn't believe that I was the only one left. I was the survivor from Class 3b from the battle that started 7th March and ended on the 9th, three nights. Afterwards they took me back to the city and paraded me around the streets like a hero. Was I ever a hero then? Should I ever have been cheered by then? But the people shouted my name screaming, 'murderer, murderer, you killed your friends'. I lost all sanity I had left on that day. How could they say that I was a killer? I thought piteously, 'you were never there to witness what I had seen. Did you see your friends with deadly intent streaming through their eyes all wishing with their heart for your blood?' Oh how much did I want for God to forgive me then. I would have given anything on that day just for them to stop and for God to take my pathetic sins away.

I am here now after a year or two of hiding with the cowardice and fear, I hold within these veins that are stained with the blood of my companions. After they took me back, not even my parents would stray their eyes from their work to look upon me. My friends were dead; to my parents I was dead to their eyes. The only way I knew I could live in this world was on my own. So I fled. I was wrong I know, I should have lived with the punishment that they gave me but I was scared. In my bed every night I would dream of that time. Every night I would wait again for my memories to torture me into agony. When those men found me again I was mad. Mad and scared that they would take me again to fight and so they took me back to this room.

My eyes wandered from the thirty or so children lying on the floor of a dusty classroom. They were all asleep, just as I was until I awoke into this nightmare. Two of the thirty of us in that room had woken before me and taken to sitting on the desks at back of the room. As I looked I noticed that they to had the same atmosphere as the others who had also survived the game before. I also sensed that perhaps that they were friends in some respect for they had a familiarity that only a friend would have.

I guess that they too were also taken from their hiding places and forced into this game once more. With one in a corner and one on the floor near him both of them were boys, one blond with red streaked hair. Looking menacing he stared at me with anger in his eyes, frightened I looked at the other. The other had black hair with a face that made you think he was as pure as an angel. He too had anger in his brown puppy-dog eyes but I sensed he knew the truth of why we were here. Before I looked away I saw sympathy in his face. 'Why?' I thought; why would a boy who had slaughtered his friends and probably had the very same intent to do the same to me, show of all emotions sympathy?

As some of the children before me woke I noticed that they were frightened. I thought 'pitiful children do you know that you will die today'. I took delight in their weakness. They saw me near the window and backed from me. They saw the boys and did the same to them. As a boy with red hair and freckles sat on the dusty floor, the rest did the same. It was as if he was their leader. I knew I could never be able to be friends with them. My appearance was too harsh for them. I even thought it was too ironic for this school I was wearing the very same blood stained uniform that I was wearing that time I killed my friends.

The door opened and a person came in, guarded with a small army of soldiers, each holding a rifle they stood warningly, as if they could kill without fright or guilt. He was smart almost handsome but with an air that made you think he was dangerous. It was a man that I could never forget. I hated him. He was the reason I had to fight and because of him so many children like me have become hated by their very own parents and town. With every step he took the anger inside me stirred as if wanting to brake free and strangle him with the hate he led me to have. But when he spoke I knew that he had every intention for us to be dead. I all knew that behind the kind gentle words he spoke, his mind was planning new ways to kill and torture us every minute. I guess he got impatient for he killed a boy. He did it without warning, with the grace of a swan but the swiftness of a dragon. He had not changed from the younger more innocent looking boy that he was when he made me kill my friends.

He did the same then ironically; he killed a girl named Beth Meriwether who had no respect for others. She was talking and wouldn't stop. She just kept talking and talking, we knew that he was angry and that he had the power to do anything he wanted. Whatever he wanted. I wonder what her grave would be like. Maybe it would read 'Beth Meriwether. Died 6th March from a stab wound to the head'. I can still remember how she fell. Her eyes were lifeless; we could all see that she was dead. That dead boy that laid there now with the very same lifeless eyes as Beth. A moment of silence passed for the dead and then someone screamed. All chaos resumed in that classroom after that. The person who screamed was that angry blonde haired boy from the back. Who would have known that he of all people would be the first person to act upon our hate, as the only three who survived this game?

He pulled himself from the desks, steadied himself and then ran. As he ran he pulled a gun from a hidden sleeve. He continued to run but bullets came from that gun as he did so. He then readied himself for the end of the attack. However the end never came, what did happen however, happened so fast that I only saw the end result. The boy was twisted in a lock with his arm at the back, a knife at the neck of that boys seductive throat.

All this time the other boy was sitting there with the most astonished look the world had ever seen. With one look upon his beautiful face, you could see in his mind, was a sense of astonishment that turned into understanding. He knew he needed to protect his companion. When the blade, silver in the moonlight hovered near the throat of his one and only friend, he had to act. On impulse he through a knife, he knew that if he fought with his friend then he would probably be dead by then. The knife was perfectly aimed at the wrist that was keeping his friend from moving. The man knew that he would have to move and loose his grip on that boy or risk injury on his wrist.

He was self-centred, always thinking of his looks. He would never let anything scratch his 'perfect' body. Like a puppet, which was drawn on a string that, that black haired boy had mastered he moved and loosened his grip on that boy. Seeking refuge the blonde haired boy ran towards the back once more to his friend. I knew that he would think before he acted from now on.

The next time I looked at that man I knew that he was angry. The knife was safely on the floor but the purpose for the knife was already played out. The blonde haired boy was safe and but that was not was the man wanted. I could see with one look that he was annoyed. His body tensed and the atmosphere changed. As stood there his eyes were almost red with fury. His hands wrapped into balls of fists. I was frightened, not of him but of what he could do when he was angry.

I guess I could almost foretell that he would do something drastic. For the next moment he turned and shouted to the soldiers behind him two deadly words.

'Kill them!'

With that he stormed off out of the classroom and into the darkened hall. There was another scream then but this time there was no order with it, just simple fear. With that the class began to run. I stood and watched from my perch that was also at the back of the class. To be honest it was funny, they were scared yes but they just ran in circles, from one side of the classroom to another screaming whilst the boys and I just sat there at the back as if we had accepted our fate. We hadn't, we were just biding time.

The soldiers then began to take us, at first forcefully but then when the class saw the boys and me go with them they calmed down. I guess they looked to us as leaders and support. How strange that we were instead taking them to their demise. They took us to a hall, which had bodies piled as high as you could see. It was obviously used for killing.

For some people the smell of our future was too much, they began to cry like the spoilt brats they were.

I have to admit I was cruel I began to take pleasure in their fear. Maybe it was then that I turned into that man. A killer, a monster, and a murderer I finally turned into the one person that I hated. To keep myself from my thoughts I looked at the boys. But when I looked at their faces I knew that I was not alone. They were smiling almost laughing. Do you think of us as insane? Do you want to kill us now that you know we like it?

They lined us up in sets of seven. But by then the boys and I already knew what we were going to do. They pulled their guns up but then so did we. They tried to aim but then none of them shot. Why? I shall tell you. With the knowledge that we had gained from protecting our selves and the lust that had somehow grown within us we killed. We were fast but then we had always had to be. As the bodies of our victims fell like falling leaves we began to laugh and take delight in our work. We were almost insane loving the blood that would splatter on us as the bullets from our guns shot through them. In a second the bullet would hit its target and in a moment they were dead.

The class stood there gormless, astonished that we who were only sixteen could accomplish that amount of murder. Were we dangerous, were we heroes? They didn't know, but they knew that we would take them out of there, even though we loved the feel of killing. We took them out of that school on that deserted island to a place that we knew was safe. From there we let them back into the city to make their own way back to their parents if they still wanted them. However we knew that there is nowhere where we would feel safe. No one would ever want us again. We had sinned too much.

From that time onwards we have killed so many people not out of hate or anger but always to survive. We always pray for God to forgive us and let us live in peace but we know that not even God can forgive the sins we have committed. So now we move from one place to another just for those men to come and find us. It seems that every place we go to another battle always takes place and then we have to move once again. When will be the time that we can rest? Will it be when we die, if we ever get to? We live for each other and we fight for each other. For in the world that we live in, you have to fight for survival.


End file.
